


The Girl in the Blue Hoodie

by MoonSilverSprite



Series: Human Monsters [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Child Abuse, Child Death, Emotional Manipulation, Jewelry, Kidnapping, Season/Series 08, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:54:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonSilverSprite/pseuds/MoonSilverSprite
Summary: The team are called to a case in Oklahoma, where a young girl has been kidnapped under strange circumstances. When the BAU investigate further, they find that the Unsub has been doing this for several years. First a child is taken, then a parent months or years later, never to be seen again. There is also sufficient evidence to suggest that the Unsub has been using her previous victims, whom she raised, to assist her in her crimes.While this reassures the team in that the latest victim might still be alive, the Unsub is moving fast. And with one victim deciding on her loyalties, can the BAU find the children in time?
Series: Human Monsters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512821
Kudos: 14





	The Girl in the Blue Hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> I really am cheerful this Christmas season, aren't I?
> 
> While some elements of this story may be considered similar to a very well-known episode of Criminal Minds, most of this story was adapted from a crime fiction book whose title I can't for the life of me remember. The main similarities are a female Unsub holding children and the use of a crematorium. However, the main difference is that in the book, the Unsub was doing this in order to punish the parents, the details of which I borrowed for my story. The jewelry part was also adapted from the book.
> 
> Other aspects of this story are also very loosed inspired by two different real-life kidnappings; the Steven Stayner case (mainly the climax) and the Shawn Hornbeck case.

**December 21st 2013**  
**3.15pm**

Clarice shut the door as she entered the house. The place was a complete tip; there was dust everywhere and the bins hadn’t been taken out. She was going to tell Jade off. It had been the girl’s turn to tidy up.

“Amber!” she shouted, walking over to the stairs, “Get down here!”

As soon as she said that, there was the sound of plimsolls tapping as the skinny young woman came down. Even though she was nearly twenty-one, Brenda still stood a head shorter than Clarice. My name’s Brenda, she wanted to say, but there was little point getting Clarice angry. “Yes, Clarice?” she asked, standing there and waiting for instruction.

“Car, now,” Clarice nodded towards the front yard.

Brenda inwardly sighed. She knew what was coming next. Following Clarice outside to the station wagon, she watched as the woman unlatched the trunk and showed the young woman what she’d brought back.

A small girl lay in the back, fast asleep. She had black tape slapped over her mouth and around her hands and ankles. She was wearing a purple pleated skirt and beige blouse. She must have been cold because even in December, Oklahoma was a nasty place.

“Carry her in.” Clarice told Brenda, who started to lean in and grab the girl gently by the ankles. As the two women carried her to the bomb shelter, Brenda dared to ask a question.

“What’s her name?”

“Jessie Cox,” Clarice replied, matter-of-factly, “Booker.”

“Which parent?” Brenda asked quietly.

“Sorry?” the older woman asked, as she handed Brenda the keys.

As Brenda unlocked the door, she repeated herself, “Oh, I just wondered which parent you were punishing.”

Clarice gave a chuckle. “The mommy. They’re always the worst, aren’t they?”

“If you say so, Clarice.” Brenda sighed as she pushed open the door. As Clarice carried the girl in, Brenda couldn’t help feel that she hoped this girl would live.

But whether that was better or not, Brenda wasn’t sure. “Where’s Debora?” she asked.

“Sorry?” Clarice scowled, her voice almost a bark.

Brenda sighed. “Where’s _Jade_?”

Clarice grinned. “She went inside. Come on; she’s making chili.”

**December 22nd 2013**  
**9.40am**

“There’s been a child abduction in Booker, Oklahoma,” Garcia pressed a button and Jessie Cox’s yearbook picture appeared on screen, “Eight-year-old Jessie Cox was taken from outside of a liquor store in her hometown. Witnesses say there was more than one kidnapper.”

“The kidnapping was witnessed?” Alex asked, opening a file. Then she looked at the information. “This was yesterday afternoon ago; why are we being called in now?”

“Because police seem to believe that the kidnappers were helped by an underage accomplice inside the liquor store.” Garcia twisted her remote in her fingers.

“An underage accomplice?” Rossi asked, “So we might be looking at a ring?”

Garcia nodded. “That’s why we’ve been called in, sir.” Garcia pressed another button on the remote and they saw security footage. Jessie was stood by a newspaper stand, apparently bored. Someone rode past on a bicycle as a black van drove up beside Jessie. The door on the side of the van slid open and a woman reached out with both hands. Jessie had turned, but didn’t start to run before the woman had grabbed her. One hand gripped Jessie by the neck, another gripped her wrist. Jessie was pulled into the van as the door shut and it drove off.

“Why was Jessie outside a liquor store?” Morgan asked.

“She was waiting for her mom, Danielle Cox. She was getting wine for Christmas.” Garcia answered.

“This doesn’t quite seem like a random abduction,” Reid twisted his fingers together, “The street is one-way. The way Jessie reacted suggests that she recognized her abductor.”

“Either way, clock’s ticking,” Hotch told them, “Wheels up in five.”

On the jet, the team looked through Jessie’s information. The third-grader had been miserable lately, according to a child psychiatrist. Her dad had had to move out two years prior due to having cheated on Danielle Cox. He had come back to live with them six months ago, but tensions were high between both parents.

“The Unsub could have noticed this,” Alex suggested, “Taken advantage of it. Gained Jessie’s trust, maybe. Jessie definitely looks at the woman for a few seconds before she takes her.”

“You know, this is very similar to a child abduction from the same county,” Reid mused, “Gillian Haywood vanished fifteen years ago outside a liquor store.”

“Well for now, let’s concentrate on Jessie.” Hotch instructed.

He thought about the driver. The video hadn’t been very clear, but the driver had worn a sleeveless top. They were possibly also a woman. That was odd. A man and a woman team would be understandable. But two women? That was something new.

But a thought niggled at the back of his head all the same. If the Oklahoma police suspected a ring, then it was entirely possible that other cases in the state – and probably beyond – had been committed by the same Unsubs.

Jessie stared around the room she was held in.

When she had woken, the loud, straw-haired woman with a face like a horse had stroked her hair and told her that she was now living here. She had then told Jessie that if she ever tried to run away, then she would hurt her. The woman had made her point, digging her sharp, painted nails into the girl’s skin, before she left, leaving Jessie in darkness.

Now Clarice strode into the bomb shelter, with Debora a few feet behind her. Debora inched closer to Jessie. The girl whimpered, pushing away.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Debora reassured her, giving a strained smile, easing the tape away from the child. As soon as she did, Jessie curled up on the bed, her hands grabbing her bare ankles.

Clarice sat down on the bunk in front of her, trying her best to smile sweetly, but it still looked crooked. “Beryl,” she spoke firmly and clearly, like a teacher addressing a student, “You’re lucky that you arrived at such a good time. What’s your favorite color?”

Jessie blinked, surprised. Debora made her way over to the girl and knelt down beside the bunk. Her smile was sweet and cheerful, or at least as much as she could make it. 

“Jessie, if you tell us your favorite color, then you can have a hoodie in that color. See? Mine’s pink because that’s my favorite.”

Jessie gave a small mumble.

“Sorry?” Debora asked.

“Light purple.” Jessie repeated.

Clarice nodded, glad to be getting somewhere. “Jade,” she ordered the older girl, “go and get the sewing machine. I think we have some lilac in the storeroom.”

Debora stood up and left, shutting the door behind her, leaving Jessie alone with Clarice.

Clarice stretched out an arm and pulled Jessie close to her by the shoulders. “We’re going to have to do things a bit fast this year,” she explained, “Opal was a waste of four years and I want to get the ball rolling.”

“I want my mom.” Jessie cried loudly. Then she told her, “My name isn’t Beryl.”

Clarice frowned and stood up. As she looked down at the girl, towering over her, she replied coldly, “Your mommy doesn’t deserve your love.”

Storming out of the bomb shelter, Clarice turned off the light from outside, leaving Jessie alone to scream in the darkness.

**Police Station, Booker, OK**  
**1.30pm**

Arriving in Booker, the team was already inside the police station. Alex asked the chief, a short man with a bristly mustache, “Do you know the Cox family that well?”

He snorted. “Everyone knows everyone in Booker. Ruined the Christmas spirit, this nasty business. You heard about the spat with her folks?”

Alex nodded. He carried on.

“Danielle let him back in with the promise that he never break her heart again. Well, both their hearts are broken now.”

Danielle Cox was in the interview room, face red from sobbing and her head resting in her right hand.

“Mrs Cox?” Alex entered the room, “I’m Agent Alex Blake, I’m with the FBI.” Drawing up a chair and sitting down in front of her, Alex then gave the usual spiel. “What do you remember from the store?”

“I should never have taken Jessie there,” Danielle sighed, “I should have got a babysitter. Why are you questioning me? It’s been two days and you haven’t found the ***** that took her –”

“Mrs Cox,” Alex reassured her, holding her palms up to try and calm the woman down, “The sooner we can work out what happened, the better our chances are of finding Jessie safely. Tell us everything. Even the tiniest detail could help get her back.”

Danielle wiped her nose on her sleeve and replied, “I – was getting a red wine. I was in the queue when this girl stood in front of me. She looked far too young to be in a liquor store, I kept thinking. Then she bumped into a cabinet and the bottles fell all over the floor. The shopkeeper kept shouting at her. She just – backed against the wall. She was chewing her sleeve around her wrist.”

“What did this girl look like?” Alex asked.

“Small. Blonde, limp hair. Her hoodie was yellow. Her – sleeves were chewed around the edge. She was definitely too young to be in the store.”

“How old?”

“Twelve? Sixteen? It’s hard to tell when they look so small. And she looked small. She looked underfed. I’m a nurse; I know.”

Alex made a mental note to look into that.

Twenty minutes later the station had the footage from inside the store. JJ and Morgan were currently watching it inside the chief’s office. According to the chief, the whole station had watched this and they were considering sending it out to the news channels if they couldn’t find any more information.

But giving it out too early might mean they would miss something and not sending it out soon enough might mean clues could be missed. For every police officer this was a conundrum.

“There,” JJ pointed, “The girl looks out at the exact same time the van stops. She knocks over the bottles around the corner. Danielle and the shopkeeper were drawn to her rather than Jessie.”

“And no-one’s seen the girl since?” Morgan asked.

The chief shook his head. “No. There are fifty kids in Booker and I can guarantee that she’s not from here.”

“Look at the direction she leaves,” Morgan nodded to the screen, “She looks around, then runs after the van. Where does that road lead?”

“Out of town,” the chief answered, “No houses or apartments.”

“Any other stores?” JJ asked.

“There’s a launderette. It’s got security footage as well. And before you ask, we already took it.”

“We’ll need to see it.” JJ instructed.

“There’s one more interesting tidbit,” the chief pulled at his belt as he spoke, “The day before Jessie’s abduction, a woman vanished over in Mustang, a hundred miles away. Neighbors heard her screaming and saw the door left open. Her husband was out and he has a solid alibi at a nearby dive bar.”

“You think they’re connected?” Morgan asked, rather puzzled as to why the chief had brought this up.

The chief blew out through his teeth. “It seems like a voluntary disappearance, but I doubt it, despite evidence to the contrary. See, this woman, Evalyn Lynwood, had a son go missing in 2009. Kirk, aged twelve. Disappeared from outside his friend’s house. Now, Evalyn left a note on the family computer saying that she killed Kirk and was going to lie with him.”

JJ shrugged. “It seems open-and-shut, tragic as it is.” Then she asked, “Was Evalyn ever ruled out in her son’s disappearance?”

“Not only was she ruled out years ago,” the chief confided in the two agents, “but this was the tenth case I can think of in Oklahoma where a kid vanishes and then a parent follows suit, leaving a note that they killed the kid.”

This was a lot to take in. Morgan said he would get the rest of the team. After he left, JJ asked the chief, “What happened in the other families?”

“Sometimes the parent disappeared months, sometimes years later, after killing their spouse. Now, of this I’m certain; a weapon with the parent’s DNA and fingerprints, no foreign DNA at the scene, things like that. But other times, the parent simply vanishes into thin air, leaving a confused and distraught spouse.”

“Has anyone ever found the parents or the kids?” JJ felt queasy in the pit of her stomach.

He shook his head. “But it’s the same each time.”

“Which means Jessie’s parents are next.” JJ mused anxiously.

**Three Days Earlier…**  
**December 20th 2013**  
**5.50pm**

Clarice looked down at the coffin on the trolley. It was a pity she had to kill Kirk; that was four years down the drain. It had been a waste, frankly, renaming him Opal and acting as if he might one day be one of her dysfunctional family.

She had gone into the bunker after the kids had gone to bed (with a little sleeping pill in each drink to get them on their way), strangled Kirk to unconsciousness and stuffed him in the trunk of her car before she drove to the crematorium. Now all Clarice had to do was select which gem to use.

Opening the box with the options laid out for her, she took a good glance at the different colors; red, light blue, green, purple and clear. In the end, Clarice chose red. Kirk had been a foul-mouthed little pest and she was glad to be rid of him, to be frank.

Starting up the fire inside the crematorium, Clarice looked at the second coffin, containing the body of Kirk’s mother. The mother had been an utter wimp; of course, Clarice should have expected this, given that Kirk’s mother had let her liar of a husband back.

But the way she begged Clarice to let her son live? As if Clarice would do such a thing! Kirk didn’t deserve his mother and given Kirk’s temper, he would do everything in his power to try and escape. The sturdy sixteen-year-old was already a problem for the five foot five woman.

Clarice opened the door and slowly slid the coffin inside. She had done this enough times to know what to do. Both with genuine cremations and her many victims.

Once Kirk was finished and his ashes slotted into a pretty red ring, she set about doing exactly the same with his mother. But as Clarice wheeled the coffin to the oven door, the woman’s eyelids fluttered open.

“Kirk?” she asked, weakly, barely able to form words from her fatigue and broken jaw, “Where’s my boy?”

Clarice showed her the ring in the plastic bag. Kirk’s mother stared at it for a moment, confused.

“In this, ‘ _honey_ ’.” Clarice replied in a mocking tone. Then she lifted the woman’s head up a few inches so that she could see the raging fire.

Kirk’s mother let out a load of screaming and begging, even as Clarice shut the casket lid and started wheeling the woman close. Opening a drawer and pulling out a tape recorder, she pressed play and held it on top of the top section as she pushed the coffin closer, letting Kirk’s mother’s screams be captured on audio.

At the crematorium, she took the player off and set it on a desk before she placed the coffin inside. Clarice set about pulling on the ropes until the noises finally ceased.

**Now**

Dinner was a quiet affair.

Yet again, Clarice had served up Hamburger Helper and made a complete mess of it. But the children were still grateful. When they had been locked up alone in the bunker, back when Clarice had first kidnapped them, they could do a whole day without food or lighting. Now, as long as they didn’t leave the converted warehouse that Clarice called home, or refuse to take part in Clarice’s workshops, they were free to do what they liked.

The four of them sat in their Christmas hoodies. Brenda didn’t eat a thing, still thinking about Jessie locked up in the bomb shelter. Debora twirled her fork around on her burger bun. Macie did what she normally did when she was nervous; wrap her sleeve around her fist and place it by her mouth.

“You girls are so ungrateful,” Clarice complained, “eat up.”

“I’m eating,” Stan mumbled with his mouth full, his green sleeves trailing into the ketchup.

Clarice ignored him. “You’re all growing children. You need to eat healthy food.”

Debora would have said that this food wasn’t exactly healthy, but she knew by now that talking back to Clarice meant the dog collar, being locked in a closet with the light off for a whole day or worse, ‘playtime’.

When Debora had had the chance to glimpse the newspaper at Clarice’s crematorium that day, she had read that Jessie’s parents were looking for her. The FBI had been called into the investigation.

Debora was torn on whether she wanted to be found or not. She had been here for ten years, over half her life. Her parents were gone. She didn’t want to go back to school, even with everything that had happened. But she also wanted to be free. Debora wanted to make sure Clarice was punished.

But worst of all, she was worried about what would happen if Clarice caught on to the police before she was arrested. Because if that happened, Debora knew they’d be dead.

Brenda seemed to see it too. The two older girls, the ones who had been trapped here the longest, had shared saddened looks that day. Now they yearned even more to be free.

**4.25pm**  
**Police Station, Booker**

JJ was watching the video from inside the store. It went exactly as Mrs Cox said it had gone down. But then she noticed something.

“Rewind for a second,” she told the officer working on the machine, “What’s that?”

On the screen the girl had placed something underneath a shelf before she had knocked bottles over. It seemed to be a folded-up t-shirt.

“Did you find a t-shirt at the scene?” JJ asked.

“Yes,” the officer replied, “it’s in the evidence locker.”

A few minutes later JJ had recovered said t-shirt. It was light blue with a picture of a butterfly with dark blue wings printed on the front. There was no label. A long brown hair had been taped inside, as had a blonde one. Both the hair follicles were filled attached. These had been stored separately and were going to be analyzed.

A pendant on a chain had also been found taped inside. The pendant had been of a tiny circle with a unicorn and stars inside. JJ had found it very impressive; the artist must be a dab hand at making jewelry.

JJ took pictures of the t-shirt and pendant and sent it to Garcia to see if she could identify the pattern from anywhere.

Sitting in the conference room of the police station, there were twenty missing persons’ flyers up on a board. Hotch surveyed them, his arms folded. The rest of the team was sat around a table behind him with Garcia on speaker.

“You sure these are all the cases in Oklahoma that share similarities with Jessie’s abduction?” Morgan asked as Garcia tapped away.

“Yeah,” Garcia replied, “By Mother Mary, there’s a number! I wasn’t expecting any. I mean, a family being hit twice…”

“Garcia?” Morgan asked.

“Oh, right,” she stopped herself, before clearing her thought and reading the information on screen, even though the flyers all displayed exactly the same, “Earliest I can find is the Haywood family from Woodward. Gillian was abducted coming home from school on the last day of sixth grade, 7th May 1998. Her father Frank was last seen by his wife at their home on 15th October that year. Mom says she heard Frank shouting and shotgun blasts, but when she came into the front yard, he was gone. No sign of either of them since.”

“And the most recent is Kirk Lynwood?” Morgan asked. Garcia gave out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, 5th July 2009. His mother, Evalyn Lynwood, 50, was last seen three days ago.”

“Thanks baby mama.” Morgan told her, before the call disconnected.

“Let’s look first at the cases where one parent left without killing the other.” Hotch began, before going over the facts.

Susan Scott was nine years old when she had been last seen talking to a strange woman in Buffalo on 7th February 1999 at a class picnic. Susan’s mother Jemima had disappeared exactly seven months later when her husband came home to find her missing.

Ten-year-old Ralph Shepard had been seen standing at his school bus stop on 18th April 2000 in Clinton, but hadn’t been there when the bus arrived. His mother Charity had disappeared on December 29th, just after Ralph’s eleventh birthday. She was reported missing when her husband came home from a friend’s house.

Margaret Monday was thirteen, albeit quite small for her age, when she was taken from Cherokee on 12th July 2003. She had been delivering newspapers when her bicycle was found in the bushes. Her father Jacob had last been seen by his wife on 7th April the following year when she left the house and came back to find him missing.

Brian Munroe had been one day from his ninth birthday when he disappeared after skipping school in Enid on 25th March 2005. Nearly a year later on 11th February 2006, his mother Fern had left her workplace early and had never been seen again.

Then they had a look at the cases where the spouse was killed. There were four of them exactly.

The earliest was Brenda Milford from Stillwater, a dark-haired, vibrant eight-year-old whose disappearance had been swallowed up in the media storm from 9/11 three days after she had been snatched from her front garden when her mother had gone inside for a cigarette. Brenda’s mother Felicity had disappeared twenty-two months later, to the day. Police had been reported after the front door had been found ajar early in the morning. They had found Randall Milford sprawled out on his bed, thankfully asleep when his wife had killed him. A letter left behind written by Felicity stated that she had killed Brenda and buried her body in the woods.

The case of Debora Slootmaekers was eerily similar. The girls looked slightly like each other in hair color and build. Their dates of birth were even three days apart, in the first week of January. Debora had disappeared when on a Girl Scout trip in the woods in Broken Arrow on 16th August 2004. The woods were thoroughly searched but turned up no sign of Debora.

Then, six months later, her father Matthew had stabbed his wife Anna in the liver at their house, written a letter on his computer to say that he had killed Debora and threw her body in Verdigris River to get back at Anna for cheating on him.

Third was Macie Butler. At seven years of age, Macie was the youngest child involved in these cases. The petite, blonde girl had been playing in a sandpit in Eldon Lyon Park on March 6th 2006 with another girl when a car had driven up. The woman inside said that Macie’s dad was sick and had provided the password that her parents used. The woman had taken Macie in the car and driven off.

Because the kidnapper had spoken the password, police were focused on her estranged parents. Their theories were supposedly confirmed at the end of June the following year when her mother Julie had shot Macie’s father Earl in his garage and left a note on the computer to say that she had paid someone to kill Macie.

The fourth was the only boy. Stan Law had been older than the other children at nine. Stan and his friends had been at a Pizza Hut on 20th October 2007 when the boy had stepped out to answer a supposed phone call from his mother. His mother had denied calling the restaurant, of course. Yet again, the parents had been strong suspects.

This time however, it had been the father that disappeared. Eighteen months after Stan had vanished Ron Law had drugged and strangled his wife Connie in her bed. He had left a handwritten letter to say that Stan’s body was in a dumpsite and he was going to kill himself.

After looking over these four cases in particular, the team moved their flyers to a different board.

Morgan asked, “But why would someone go to all this trouble?”

Rossi put forward, “The intricate planning, the password, the phone call; that implies that the Unsub had been stalking the family beforehand.”

“Have a look at the footage again,” Hotch twisted his head around to look at Morgan and JJ, “Both the van and the inside. See if the driver of the van or the girl inside the store could be any of the abducted children.”

As JJ and Morgan left the room, Reid’s eyes widened as he realized something.

“Look at the dates,” he walked up to the boards, standing between them and rotating his head from left to right, “Each child is abducted a few months or weeks after each murder or murders. Our Unsub successfully kills and then targets another child. She’s been stalking non-stop for fifteen years.”

“And these weren’t connected before?” Rossi was baffled by the apparent inability from Oklahoma State Police to do their job.

“Maybe it’s because the parents were coerced into writing goodbye letters that stated they had killed their children,” Reid offered, gabbling, “But why do only some of them kill their spouses? I mean, the Unsub – if it is one person behind all of this – knows what they’re doing. The evidence all suggests that the missing parent killed their significant other. Why did the Unsub make them do this?”

“Why take Kirk’s mother four years after his disappearance? The other parents were taken months after their kids disappeared, not years.” Hotch pointed out.

“Maybe the Unsub was unavailable,” Reid suggested, “Or they were waiting for something.”

Alex looked at those photos and then again at the other cases listed on the board. “Why do some parents disappear sometimes and one disappear and one die other times?”

Hotch didn’t actually have a clue. “There is an element of psychological torture in the abductions – worry the parent and then later kill them.”

“And why have none of the children turned up?” Rossi asked out loud.

JJ came in at that moment. “Guys,” she said, nervously, eyes wide with fright, “I think we have to see this.”

“Children,” Clarice answered, entering the house and placing the tape player on the kitchen table, “I need to show you all something.”

As they all trooped down the stairs, Clarice held her plastic bag out. Inside, the four of them could see a red ring and a green ring. “I have something new to let you listen to,” she gave a faux smile, “just as a reminder if any of you think about getting away.”

Macie still chewed on her sleeve. Clarice noticed.

“Coral, don’t ruin your clothes,” Clarice told her, “It’s just that you’re all getting too big now. I didn’t notice over the last four years, my pretty darlings. Malachite, those muscles are definitely showing. It’s much better if you do all the heavy lifting for us when you start to grow a few more inches.”

Stan blushed, folding his arms and looking at the floor.

“Now,” Clarice pressed play on the tape, “listen to Opal’s – Kirk’s mother when she woke up.”

“She woke up?” Debora’s voice trembled. Macie and Stan looked at each other in concern and horror. Brenda didn’t say anything. She simply stared ahead.

Clarice nodded, disappointed. “But just listen to this, my pretty darlings.”

The sounds of Kirk’s mother screaming were as loud as they had been at the crematorium. Macie drew her fist from her cheek for once, her arm pressed against her chest. Stan went very still and didn’t say anything. He acted as if this wasn’t affecting him, but it chilled him to the bone.

Debora was swaying from side to side, tears forming in her eyes. Brenda remained stoic, eventually holding out her hand for Debora to clutch, desperately.

When the recording finished, Clarice told them, “Go back to your rooms. I’ll see you tonight.”

As they did so, Brenda instead came down and stood behind the woman. “The FBI is here in Oklahoma, Clarice,” she informed the woman, who was now walking over to the stove and beginning to cook dinner, “They’re looking for Je– Beryl. What are you going to do?”

Please don’t kill Jessie, Brenda silently begged, Don’t kill her like you killed Mom and Dad.

That night still haunted Brenda and would do so forever.

Clarice gave out a small laugh, as if this were an issue that could be easily fixed. “I just have to speed things up a little. Get the camera; we’re going to the bomb shelter.”

The disc had been recovered from the Butler household. Or, to be precise, it was found in a box of things that had been given over to Macie’s aunt after her sister’s disappearance.

“The disc was labeled _‘To Julie, From Macie’_ ,” the chief explained as it was slotted into the station’s player and the team gathered around as if about to watch some terrifying documentary, “Stroke of luck that she thought about it when she read about Jessie. She watched it herself and sent it over.”

The room fell silent as the team saw the contents with heavy hearts and frightened minds.

The video, dated the same day that Julie Butler went missing, showed a disheveled young girl sitting on a wooden stool in the middle of a room crowded with furniture. She was wearing a red cardigan with a few of the buttons missing, a messy t-shirt that had once been white, grey flannel shorts and brown sandals, with her limp, blonde hair hanging in two pigtails.

The girl held up a newspaper, announcing in a trembling voice, _“Hello Mother. It’s Macie. I was born on 14th May 1998, my favorite color is yellow and I lost my first tooth when I bit into the copper door handle at home. Mom, the person holding me…”_ Macie paused, holding back a sob.

A voice from behind the camera murmured something horrible, but another, more sympathetic voice whispered, _“You’re doing great.”_

Macie looked in the direction of the second voice, letting the tears stream down her dirty cheeks. _“Please, please, I don’t want to! No! No!”_

 _“Do it!”_ a louder voice shouted. Those watching all jumped, as did Macie. This voice had been a woman’s, very stern and commanding.

Macie swallowed and spoke in a small voice, _“Mom, if you want me to come home…y-you…have to kill Dad.”_

The disc ended and then Hotch asked the lieutenant, “This was found in Julie Butler’s possessions?”

The lieutenant nodded. “It was given to Julie’s sister in August 2007. It was just thought to be a home movie since it found with some others.”

Hotch thought that that was incredibly irresponsible of Bethany police, but he nodded and turned to his team. “At the very least, this shows Macie was alive the day her dad was killed. Which would suggest Jessie Cox is still alive.”

“But why take the kids in the first place?” Alex asked, “If the parents are the target?”

“It could be psychological torment,” Reid suggested, “Make the parent more likely to kill their spouse if they believe their child will be returned unharmed.”

Rossi was the one who spoke. “When the parent can’t go through with killing their partner, the Unsub takes and murders them. If they successfully kill their partner, the Unsub takes them anyway.”

“But what happens to the kids?” Rossi asked the question that none of the team wanted to contemplate.

“It’s very likely that the girl in the store was Macie,” JJ pointed at the computer screen, frozen as the girl stood beside a shelf of wine bottles, wondering if she should push them onto the floor, “But why select these children in the first place? Why the parents?”

**6.40pm**

“I’ve looked over the case report from the Law household,” Reid pulled out the description of Stan’s bedroom from the yellow file, “It says that some of his stuffed animals were missing. So were some of his sports encyclopedias and his CDs.”

He and Morgan had been leafing through the computerized files on all ten cases, eleven if you included Jessie. Reid had preferred looking through actual files, much to Morgan’s mild annoyance. So at this moment the younger man was surveying police notes from a crime booklet.

“Could be trophies,” Morgan shrugged.

Reid didn’t seem to think so. “But that’s what sticks out to me. If a parent was planning to take their child somewhere, they would take their child’s favorite toys along with them.”

“The parent was planning on going with the Unsub to the child?” Morgan was confused.

“Or maybe the Unsub took these things.” Reid’s eyes looked up as he thought.

It seemed as if Reid might have been right, Morgan supposed five minutes later. When Garcia had rung back, she brought up a picture of Debora Slootmaeker’s room from the sixth month anniversary article, just a week before her mother’s death. The technical analyst could make out several stuffed toys on the bed and a child’s adventure book (Garcia swore that Alex or JJ must have read the same when they were girls) lying at the end.

“You really are amazing, you know that, baby girl?” Morgan gave a small smirk.

From the other end, Garcia smiled back. “I know. But when I looked at a crime scene photo of the room after Mrs Slootmaeker absconded, these objects were not there. A parent missing their child would realistically leave the room exactly as the child left it.”

“Found anything on the t-shirt or pendant?” JJ asked as she entered the room with blown up pictures from both security cameras, ready to talk to the morning news in several hours’ time.

“Zip, zilch, nada,” Garcia lamented, “The t-shirt is gorgeous by the way, but I can’t find any labels whatsoever. It’s not made by an amateur, though. Same with the pendant. It’s one I really, really want to buy if I had the money, but I can’t find the pattern or any other replicas anywhere on the web.”

“Is it possible that our Unsub made them herself?” Morgan guessed.

“Probably,” JJ answered.

Garcia sighed from the phone. “Suddenly I don’t want them anymore. If an Unsub has had their dirty, murdering hands all over it.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Morgan took it from here, “You’re a girl of many talents.” After he ended the call, the two of them walked out to see Rossi in the hallway, talking to the officers here who had been assisting with the other abductions, mainly due to low manpower.

The two agents explained what Garcia had told them.

“So I think that our Unsub has her own craft business,” JJ said her thoughts aloud, “She could have delivered to the families and found out about their children that way.”

“But we still don’t know why she picks those families.” Rossi argued as Hotch came down the hallway, face ashen.

“I was looking over the family situation details again,” he explained rapidly, “In each case there had been marital problems at the house before the child vanished.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan raised his head in confusion.

Hotch swallowed. Sometimes it really was easier having Reid expand on things.

“In the Milford case, Felicity had thrown Randall out the year before for cheating on her, but she forgave him and let him back in six weeks before Brenda was kidnapped.”

“Anna Slootmaekers and Earl Butler both cheated on their spouses as well.” JJ folded her arms, heart pounding faster as realization dawned on her.

Hotch nodded. “I looked at every one. The parent that disappeared had their spouse cheat before the child’s abduction.”

Even though her throat felt dry, JJ still spoke her mind. “The Unsub sees this as weak or immoral and takes the kid. She waits long enough for the parent to be desperate enough to do anything, then has them kill their significant other. That way both parents are punished; the cheater for leaving and the other for letting them return. She kept the children, if that really was Macie in the liquor store and another victim drove the van. She thinks they’re better off with her than in a toxic environment with parents who can’t trust one other.”

“I think we need to deliver the profile.” Rossi said. Nobody argued.

**7pm**

Brenda sat cross-legged as she peered through the bars. Clarice was downstairs, using the sewing machine to make Jessie’s hoodie. Brenda didn’t want to go down. She just wanted to stay up here.

Kirk was dead. Just like the other boys and girls before him whose parents had refused to kill to save them.

Brenda wiped her nose on her sleeve as she tried to stop herself from crying. She didn’t know what the others were doing, but she knew that they were doing their best to control themselves. Clarice may be on the dumpy side, but she was a formidable woman and a killer, to boot.

A woman who had killed their parents.

Brenda glanced at Debora’s closed door, the name ‘Jade’ written on the front. Debora was probably reading a library book. Clarice would go along once a week and pick some out for her.

Stan would be playing board games. He often played with Brenda, since Debora had easily grown bored of this and Macie took losing very badly. If not, he played by himself. Or sometimes read as well, or listened to CDs when Macie wasn’t interested in them.

Brenda herself would do a whole manner of things. She liked to draw, just as she had before she came here. On a couple of occasions, Clarice had seen what Brenda was drawing and used it for a dress pattern. She never thanked the girl, though.

The young woman still remembered the day she had met Clarice. The woman had stopped her van outside the house when Brenda’s back had been turned. Then she had lifted the girl off her feet and pulled her inside, drugging her and driving off with her.

Brenda had spent fifteen terrified months in the bomb shelter, wondering if each day would be her last. She still thought this sometimes.

Then Clarice had forced her out, tied her hands, feet and mouth with gaffer tape and shoved her in the back of the car. Brenda had been certain that she would die that night. Or if not, Daddy would be.

And he was, as it turned out when Clarice had driven into the garage, yanked the dirty, scared wreck of a girl out and dragged her in front of her mother in the hallway. Her mother, her shirt soaked in blood.

Her father’s blood.

Then Clarice had strangled Brenda’s mother, dumping Brenda on the floor like a piece of garbage. Brenda had seen her mother be dragged into the trunk and Brenda herself was imprisoned on the floor in the back. They had stopped off at somewhere – later Brenda would recognize the building as Clarice’s crematorium, to her horror – and the body was taken out.

Once Clarice took Brenda back to the house, taking her inside the main building for the very first time, she had sat the girl, still bound, on the couch and informed her that she had no-one left. That Clarice would look after her. That even if she went back, there was no evidence to indicate that Brenda’s mother hadn’t handed her daughter over and killed her husband.

So Brenda hadn’t fought. But every day her desire to get out of here grew.

When Brenda was eleven, she became interested in lapidary, the art of making minerals and stones into engraved gems. Clarice took this opportunity and gave Brenda a whole heap of stones to engrave. Brenda suspected that the woman was actually giving her gems requested by customers.

Sometimes Clarice would take Brenda into town with her. It wasn’t a very big one. Brenda learnt that it was called Guymon and was in the Oklahoma handle. Even so, Brenda had been afraid of trying to run away.

Just in case Clarice found her.

Clarice loved gemstones. It was why she had renamed the children after jewels. Before Brenda, there had been Crystal, Ruby and Jasper – Gillian Haywood, Susan Scott and Ralph Shepard, Brenda had later found out. Clarice still had her victims’ clothes buried on the grounds. Brenda wasn’t entirely certain why. All she knew was that Clarice had taken them to these spots and told her that she was lucky to be here.

Then there had been more children held here. After Brenda’s parents had been killed, Clarice had kidnapped Margaret Monday. Not that she ever called her Margaret; she named her Pearl.

Brenda had grown attached to the older girl, even managing to make her smile despite the circumstances. But on 7th April 2004, almost nine months later, Clarice had taken Margaret out to her parents’ house. Brenda herself had been locked inside her room. When Clarice came back, her expression was that of fury.

No regret, only fury.

Brenda had asked, “Where’s Margaret?”

Clarice didn’t look back as she went into the bunker to take away Margaret’s things. “Pearl’s dead.” Clarice replied, matter-of-factly.

Brenda had been frozen for a second, hoping that Clarice was playing a sick joke. But the woman had turned around and knelt down to the girl’s level, eyes locking.

“I said that when mommies and daddies put their spouses first, they have to be punished.” Clarice showed no emotion as she explained, which probably scared Brenda more. “She’s gone. Help me bury her clothes.”

Four months later Clarice took Debora. Brenda was too nervous to bond with her, just in case she died as well. Brenda wondered why Clarice even bothered keeping her if she killed those with bad parents.

But then Clarice left to kill Debora’s parents, taking the child with her. Brenda was slightly surprised when Debora came back alive. Clarice was smiling when she dragged the sobbing girl out of the trunk of her car and almost literally pushed her into Brenda’s arms.

Debora’s dad had succeeded in killing her mother. Debora was going to stay.

Brenda had tried her best to look after the girl. Sometimes she had even invited the girl into her bed and held her tightly. Brenda even let Debora cry into her pajama top.

The next child, Brian Munroe – or Onyx, as Clarice had named him – was much larger, despite his young age, and was a tough fighter. Not that he ever tried to hit Brenda or Debora. He said he’d never hit girls. “I only hit Clarice because she’s a -----,” he had tried to smile at Brenda.

Brian had been with them for ten months before his mother had failed to kill her father. Brenda and Debora had been standing on the porch in the darkness that February evening when Clarice’s car had driven up, minus Brian.

When Clarice had succeeded in killing Macie’s mother, the pale little girl had pulled away when Brenda had tried to comfort her that night.

Macie hadn’t spoken a word since.

Stan – or Malachite – had been the first boy whose parents ‘passed their test’. Brenda had thought it would be different, but Stan was caught between relief that he wasn’t in the bunker anymore and grief over his dead parents.

Macie had been in the bunker for fifteen months, Stan for eighteen. Brenda had asked Clarice why the woman was spacing out the abductions. Clarice hadn’t given a firm answer, but Brenda had assumed that it was possibly because Clarice didn’t want to hold too many children here. By the time Stan had been kidnapped, Brenda and Debora were already in bras.

Kirk had been held in the bunker the longest – four years. Brenda had sometimes wondered if Clarice had given up on trying to murder his parents and wanted to hold him forever.

But Clarice returned without Kirk and the pain came back to Brenda.

That had been only a few days ago. Now Brenda sat with her seat up on the couch as Clarice came back from fitting Jessie out in her hoodie. Clarice didn’t try to snap at Brenda for having her feet up.

Instead, the older woman sat beside Brenda and pulled her close. She held a hand behind Brenda’s head and nestled it on her own chest. “Oh, Amber,” she held her other arm around the girl’s back, “I’m really glad I kept you. You’re a great accomplice.”

Brenda felt bile rise in her throat. Clarice was happy with the abduction. But Brenda wondered – just as she had after Stan’s kidnapping – if she would go to jail.

Brenda tried something else, instead. Something that she had been doing for a rather long time, as she knew that Clarice kept doing it to Stan more often than not and little Macie was too fragile. Brenda smirked up at Clarice and stretched her arm so that she was touching the woman’s shoulder.

“Do you want to celebrate?” Brenda offered.

Forty minutes later Brenda was watching the rickety old television in her room. She mainly used it for watching video cassettes, but often she could turn it over to the news. She liked to do so when a child had been taken. To always check and see if the police were any closer to saving her.

They never were. She wondered why she still kept getting her hopes up.

But as she watched and saw the security footage from inside the liquor store, she saw Macie standing there. She wondered again why Clarice had taken Macie. Maybe because now the girl was getting older and she expected her to take part, to be of some use. Or maybe it was because no-one would suspect the mute, nervous child to be an accomplice.

Then a picture of Macie’s t-shirt and pendant came onto the screen. Brenda tilted her head, realizing what had happened.

Leaving the room and entering the smaller girl’s room, Brenda saw Macie clutching a teddy to her chest, her legs drawn up as she leaned against the wall.

“Macie,” Brenda sat down on the end of her bed and faced the frail girl in the eyes, “Did you leave evidence at the liquor store?”

Macie’s eyes flicked towards the door, uneasy. Brenda reassured her, “It’s okay, it’s okay. But did you?”

When Macie nodded, Brenda gave a small beam. “You clever little girl.”

And then Brenda felt better than she had in a long time.

Because she knew that whatever Clarice had said, she hadn’t broken them.

**7.05pm**

“Our Unsub is a Caucasian female, aged between thirty-five and fifty,” Hotch addressed the room of officers, as he and his team stood by the board of faces of the missing, “She plays the long game and is both manipulative and delusional. She is patient enough to wait for months or even years while holding a child and stalked the families for some time prior to the kidnapping.”

“She sees the child as living in a toxic environment. She feels as if the children she takes would be better off with her rather than the parents,” Morgan carried on, “She is not a mother, but thinks of herself as these children’s caretaker. She lives alone, somewhere either isolated or somewhere large enough to hide the children for a long period of time. A warehouse, a farm, a cabin; she has easy access to where she’s holding the children and possibly owns it. It is also likely that she works from home.”

“She works in a well-paid job,” Reid continued, “since we believe she currently has a number of hostages living with her, as well as the child she is currently keeping locked away. A single woman’s income would only go so far and a less financially stable woman would draw suspicion if she was seen spending a lot of money. From the witness reports gathered from abduction sites and sightings of the children suggest the car she uses to take the children is well-maintained and clean. She would look on the outside like any ordinary soccer mom.”

“She also happens to be skilled with her hands,” JJ spoke, “Since the shirt and necklace left behind by the accomplice from the Jessie Cox abduction site was professional, but did not match any brands. She might make her own jewelry or clothes or work as a dressmaker or similar profession, at the very least as a hobby.”

“She blames both parents if one has been cheating on the other. The cheating parent for being unfaithful and the other parent for allowing them to stay. She may have been ‘betrayed’ in some way by the forgiving parent.” Rossi finished, “This would have been while she was still a young child, most likely about the same age as her victims. The betrayal may have come from the forgiving parent committing suicide, since if it was the unfaithful parent that did so, she would only target the cheaters.”

“And what if the parent refuses to kill their partner?” an officer asked, “What happens to the kid?”

Hotch was quick to reply. “We are unsure. But they are alive by the time the parent is contacted. She brainwashes her hostages into helping her with more abductions.”

“And the bodies?” another voice called out, “What does she do to the bodies?”

“Again, we draw back to possibly being isolated,” Reid carried on, “She may work at a funeral home or church where bodies can be easily concealed, but it is more likely that she owns somewhere with enough surrounding land to hide the bodies without anyone finding them.”

“That’s all. We will update you if we have any more information.” Hotch ended the conference and the officers began to walk out.

The chief walked up to Hotch. “Should I contact the families of the victims, see if they have similar discs in their possession?”

“That could be a good idea, yes,” Hotch informed him.

When the chief walked away, another officer came up to Hotch. “Sir, Kirk Lynwood’s father is here to see you.”

A worn, thin man in his mid-fifties and a slightly small build shuffled up to Hotch. He seemed despondent. Of course he was, Hotch reminded himself, the man lost his son four years ago and his recently-disappeared wife is accused of murdering him.

“Hello, Mr Lynwood,” Hotch let his arms drop to his sides in an attempt to seem friendlier, “I understand you wish to speak to me.”

“Call me Rufus,” the man gave a loud sniff, “I – I hear that you might know what ha-happened to my son.”

“We believe we have worked out the mindset of what sort of person took your son and your wife.” Hotch answered.

Rufus looked up with broken eyes. “Is my son alive? I-Is that what you’re saying; my son might be alive?”

This was always the most difficult part of any case.

Hotch informed the man, “We are looking at all possibilities, Mr Lynwood.”

It was the best Hotch could do.

**11.50pm**

At nearly midnight, some of the officers had gone home. Others were still vigorously combing the local area for Jessie or her abductors. The BAU team were examining the discs one by one.

Some of the evidence had been collected from the victims’ belongings. The first four incriminating pleas were on videotape, but the rest were discs. The ones from the Milford and Law cases were missing, but Reid had a pretty good idea of what would be on them, as he sat back and Alex paused the videos and took either photos with a camera or screenshots of the children.

Now the photos had been printed and Alex held them in her hands, pinning each of them up by the missing posters.

Reid glanced at the first one as he found himself getting up and going over to say what was written for what seemed the twentieth time.

“Gillian Haywood, Date of Birth: 5th September 1985. Last Seen: Woodward, OK, 7th May 1998. Gillian was last seen as she left her school.” Then his eyes flicked over to the snapshot of an untidy, miserable teenage girl sitting on a stool. With her father's missing poster next to the video. Underneath the snapshot read 15th October 1998, the same as her father's missing date.

Out of their most troubling cases, this was one of those he truly hoped would have a happy ending.

**December 24th 2013**  
**2.27am**

The light turned on in the bomb shelter. Jessie rubbed her eyes as she sat up, still delirious.

“Beryl,” Clarice instructed her, tossing a folded newspaper in her face, “Get up. Sit on the stool.”

“Why?” Jessie mumbled, still half-asleep.

“It’s best if you do what she says,” Stan’s voice came from behind Clarice, as he walked up and placed a video camera on a tripod.

Jessie, still confused, sat down on the stool provided and faced the camera.

Clarice grinned as Stan set the camera up. When this was finished, she was going to drive over to the girl’s house and surprise the mother. She wasn’t going to have a repeat of Kirk. No, this time she was going to speed this up.

And by Christmas there would be two more dead bodies.

It was just up to Danielle Cox whether the second would be her husband or her daughter.

**2.30am**

“The searches are going to start again when it’s light,” Rossi informed JJ, who was sitting at the conference table, resting her head on her right hand, trying her best to remain awake, “You can have a rest.”

“It’s not just that,” JJ did her best to contain a yawn, “It’s – what if we’re stuck here over Christmas? I can’t leave Henry for another Christmas.”

Rossi sighed. “These families need answers at Christmas as well, you know.”

“I know, I know,” JJ pushed herself up, “It’s just – tragic, that’s what it is. Our Unsub not only snatched children, but she’s done it over Christmas.”

As Rossi left, JJ felt her eyelids flutter again and she couldn’t help but drift away.

**6.07am**

“There’s a woman who lives nearby,” the chief finally came back into the conference room where JJ, Morgan and Alex sat. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that JJ was fast asleep, her head resting on the table.

Alex gestured for the chief to carry on. He did so, lowering his voice in order not to wake JJ.

“There’s a woman who lives in Guymon, about an hour away. She makes jewelry and sometimes makes clothes. It’s worth looking into. You two should go, if you’re awake enough.”

“Why us?” Alex asked, “Why not officers in Guymon? It would save a trip.”

“Because you’re the top guys. We did call you in.” The chief said.

Alex couldn’t argue with that.

**6.45am**

It was now or never.

Brenda saw Clarice leave in the car. She was going to send the disc over to Jessie’s mom and force her to make the most difficult decision of her life.

It was Morton’s Fork, frankly. Either way Jessie’s mom was dead. And her daughter would either die or have to live in misery.

Brenda frowned as she turned around and switched on the light in the main room. She had let Clarice do this for far too long. She had had to say goodbye to so many children, only for them to never return.

Debora was broken behind that smile. Stan was used as Clarice’s punching bag. Macie was a wreck. Brenda had to save them.

Save them all.

Brenda squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her left hand to her face as she held back a sob.

After Debora’s mother had ‘passed the test’, Clarice had come back and taken Brenda out to the crematorium. That had been the first time the girl had ever seen the inside of the building. She was now old enough to help her, Clarice had muttered to Brenda.

The girl didn’t know what that had meant. But a few minutes later she certainly had.

When Clarice had turned the machine on and those flames had made the girl jump. Clarice had shoved Debora’s father – Brenda had no clue even now if the man had been still alive – into a coffin and instructed Brenda to help push the body inside the horrible machine.

Brenda obliged, but the experience had left her shaken. She had never told Debora about what had happened to her mother’s corpse. She hoped that she would never have to.

But Clarice had made mistakes, that Brenda was satisfied in knowing. She had shown the girl how to shoot a gun, saying it was defense for practically living in the country. She had always left the key to the bomb shelter on the hook by the main door, in full view of her captives.

And she had left Brenda awake.

Awake and alert.

“Wake up,” Brenda whispered into Macie’s ear, “Macie, we have to go.”

Macie stretched, giving out a small yawn. Then she saw Brenda gripping a flashlight in one hand, using the other to yank Macie’s duvet off her bed. Jessie just stood limply behind the door, nervous.

“Macie,” Brenda sat on the bed, placing the flashlight against the wall so that everything was almost covered in shadow, “We need to get out of here. Clarice is delivering the DVD to Jessie’s mom right now. I’m going to take the both of you to the police station. Do you understand?”

Macie paused for a moment before she nodded.

“Good,” Brenda pulled her up, “put your shoes on. And your hoodie; it’s freezing.”

When the three girls were outside in the chilly December air, Jessie looked back at the house when they made their way across the fields. “What about the others?” she asked.

Brenda answered while still looking ahead, “I’m coming back for them. If we all went, someone would notice.”

Macie rubbed the arms, her blonde hair flying about her face.

“Why can’t we go along the highway?” Jessie asked, still holding Brenda’s hand as the woman coaxed them onward.

“Clarice might see us,” Brenda replied, “It shouldn’t take more than forty minutes to walk there.”

If Clarice left just before Brenda went to get Jessie, then she would have taken the main road, Brenda told herself. It would take roughly an hour for her to get there. Booker wasn’t exactly next door.

Plenty of time for Brenda to get Macie and Jessie to safety. Plenty of time for her to get along the highway, out on the main road where she knew Clarice would see her, when the sun rose on Christmas Eve morning.

Plenty of time to shoot the tires out before Clarice noticed her, for Clarice to get out and for Brenda to kill her.

For Brenda to make her own way, away from all this. Maybe she would go to Alaska, like she always said she would. Brenda could take hobo trains, stay off the highway. Steal a car, anything. She really didn’t care what happened any more. She was just as bad as Clarice, the woman had said so.

“Come on,” Brenda whispered, one hand still clutching Jessie’s. Macie stood in the front drive, looking back at the house, her hands underneath her armpits due to the cold.

Brenda repeated herself and the other girl followed them away from the front drive and into the fields.

**7am**

“You sure that the Unsub’s address is nearby?” Alex asked Morgan as they drove through Guymon, “A woman living alone, large income, cheating parents?”

Morgan read the information from his phone. “Clarice Savege,” he recited, “forty-six, owns a jewelry-making store. She makes clothes in her spare time. Oh – oh, Alex.”

“What?” she asked, eyes still focused on the road ahead.

“It says here that her dad cheated on her mom in 1977.”

Alex did the math. “So Clarice was ten. What happened to the parents?”

“Dad moved to Oklahoma City and left them. But her mom, Nell, overdosed on sleeping pills. She tried giving some to Clarice but the girl was found by the EMTs before she died. Clarice was brought up by her uncle here in Guymon; the jewelry store used to be his.” Then Morgan gave a low swear.

“Says here,” he paled, “That Clarice’s uncle – he died in 1998, just before Gillian was abducted – that he sometimes helped to make jewelry at the crematorium.”

“Some people turn ashes into jewelry,” Alex sighed, “No wonder none of the bodies were found.”

“There’s more,” Morgan told her as they turned onto the country lane that rode down to Clarice’s house, “People said that sometimes Clarice was seen with two girls that she said were her goddaughters. She called them Amber and Jade. This started in 2005, when the girls were twelve…”

“Brenda and Debora?” Alex asked.

Before Morgan could answer, as they drove up the dirt road, they noticed that Clarice’s vehicle was gone. Hearts in their chests, the two agents got out of the car, guns at the ready.

Morgan banged loudly on the door. “Clarice Savege! It’s the FBI! Open up!”

He banged again as Alex surveyed the property for another way in. Turning the corner, she saw a curved metal roof a few inches above ground level. Walking closer, she noticed that it was a bomb shelter. The door was wide open.

Slowly making her way down the steps, Alex inched the door open so that it swung all the way. Shining the flashlight inside, she saw no-one. Turning the light switch on at the wall, she blinked as the electric lighting filled the room. As she placed the flashlight back on her belt, Alex carefully made her way inside.

A set of bunk beds, each with a green duvet. A cupboard with the doors open. A half-eaten meal in a metal bowl on a tray lay on the carpet.

“Morgan?” she called, “I think I found where the kids were held.”

Then she looked at the cupboard. Each shelf had a label on. Crystal, Ruby and so on. Games, books, a few small toys and folded clothes on each one. And on each shelf, a small plastic case with two pieces of jewelry inside.

Alex picked up a case with a blue necklace and earring inside, turning it over in her hand as she examined it. Then she saw the second label, on the shelf in front of where the box had sat.

_Brian and Fern Munroe – 11th February 2006_

The cogs turned inside Alex’s brain as she realized that she held in her hand the ashes of missing Brian and his mother.

At the front door, Morgan saw a figure through the glass, about to go out through a back door. He shouted, running around the back and getting there before said figure could leave through. The glass door was already open and Morgan brandished his gun, ready to shoot.

Instead of Clarice, he saw a tired, scared girl with short dark hair. She held her hands up defensively, stepping back, begging, “Please…”

Morgan slowly lowered the gun as he asked, “Where’s Clarice?”

The girl didn’t reply. Morgan heard footsteps on the carpeted stairs behind her and saw a lanky boy behind her.

Morgan asked, “Debora Slootmaekers?” The girl didn’t say anything, only blinked at him. “Are you Debora Slootmaekers?” he asked, more caringly.

The girl then slowly burst into tears, placing her head in her hands. As Alex came up behind him from the shelter, she asked them, “Where’s Clarice?”

The girl lifted her head up and shook it wildly. “I don’t know.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve as the boy slowly made his way behind her and gripped her hand. He could only look at her, not the agents.

Then Stan – as they deduced he must be – looked towards Alex. “We woke up and the others were gone.”

Alex looked him in the eye and asked, doing her best not to traumatize the two any further, “Did Clarice say anything before she left?”

Stan only replied as he held Debora close, “No. She’s never taken three before. I –“ he bit his lip.

“Go on,” Alex persuaded him.

“She left the shelter locked when she drove away. The key’s on the hook by the door. But it isn’t there now.” Then he asked, worried, “You will find them, won’t you?”

“We need to get you kids to safety first.” Morgan told them, as they helped Debora and Stan to the squad car.

**7.25am**

Walking down the silent street as the sun rose behind them, Brenda pulled her hoodie about herself as Macie made a small noise.

“You okay?” she asked Macie.

The younger girl shook her head.

“It’s going to be fine,” Brenda promised, “We’re almost there. See? The police station lights are just turning off.”

“Are we going home?” Jessie asked, placing one hand under her armpit.

Brenda sighed. “You and Macie are going home.”

“What about you?”

“I have no home left.” Brenda responded stoically.

“You can live with me.” Jessie offered.

Brenda smiled for a second before they stopped just outside the station. Then she knelt down so that she was at Jessie’s eye level.

“Jessie, you need to take Macie to the front desk. You tell them who you are and then a police car will take you home.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jessie argued. Macie seemed a little despondent as well.

Brenda sniffled. Was it crying or the cold, Jessie wondered. “I can’t, Jessie. I let Clarice do bad things and I can never go home.”

“Brenda –“ the little girl began, but an officer had already come out through the glass door.

Brenda leaned up, gave Macie a quick, tearful kiss and then darted down the road. The officer shouted after her, talking into his radio. He opened his mouth to talk to Macie, only for Jessie to quickly say, “She can’t talk. I – I’m Jessie Cox.”

“I know who you are,” the officer glanced around and shouted after Brenda again, now about to run onto the highway.

The BAU squad car had been turning around the corner, blocking Brenda off. She stopped in her tracks, frozen. She looked first at Alex and Morgan as they got out, then the two passengers in the back.

“That’s Brenda!” Stan cried from the back.

Alex made her way to Brenda. The young woman took a step back, breathing heavily.

“Brenda Milford?” Alex asked her. When Brenda didn’t answer, Alex offered her hand. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be afraid any more.”

Cold tears ran down Brenda’s cheek, but she didn’t wipe them. Instead, she asked in a raspy voice, “Am I going to prison?”

“Why?” Alex asked her, concerned.

“I – Clarice says I’m as bad as her.” Brenda whimpered.

Alex shook her head, her ponytail flying. “No, you’re not.”

Brenda still sobbed. “Clarice made me take Stan, take Kirk, take Jessie. I was a big girl; I should have been able to stop her.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Brenda.” Alex argued, “Take my hand, okay, and we’ll go inside.”

The oldest hostage didn’t say anything. She just reached out and let the agent take her hand to lead her inside.

**Booker, OK**  
**7.30am**

As Clarice drove into the yard at the Cox house, she looked around. It wouldn’t do to have an officer catch her, not when she was about to deliver the disc. Maybe she should have waited a few more weeks.

Oh well, no use complaining now.

As Clarice walked up to the front door, she was about to post the disc through the slot when she heard voices shouting her name and the morning sky filled with red and blue lights.

**7.54am**

“It’s actually amazing,” Reid said as he stood outside the interview room, where Clarice was being interrogated by an officer, “We managed to save five kids.”

Hotch nodded, pursing his lips. “We didn’t save all of them, though.”

“I’d still say that five’s a good enough success.” Reid straightened up and walked away.

Jessie had been brought back to Booker, where her parents were still waiting. Stan and Debora had come with her, as the interview rooms in Guymon were only a handful. Alex and Morgan were still in Guymon, questioning Brenda. And Macie, as much as they could.

“Debora said that Macie hasn’t spoken since her mom was killed.” Hotch sighed as the two men made their way down the corridor.

“Seeing something as traumatic as that could have left her mute,” Reid explained, “although it’s possible that she just chose not to talk and simply forgot how.”

“Whatever it is, let’s hope that seeing her aunt will make things better.” Hotch murmured. Then he stopped outside the room where Stan was waiting. “Reid, go in and talk to him.”

“Why me?” Reid asked.

“If I’m right then Stan hasn’t spoken to any other males in five years. He’d find everyone else too threatening.”

Inside the interview room, Stan stared ahead at Reid across the table.

The boy was also picking at his nails and at scabs on his hands. His long brown hair hung over his face and he was murmuring to himself. Reid could just about make out the boy saying, “Don’t say, don’t say, you have no-one to go home to.”

Reid answered, “You do have someone, Stan.” The boy’s head rose slowly to look at him. “Your grandparents are still alive. They want to help you. They want to take you back to school.” Reid paused. “You liked math, didn’t you?”

Stan nodded again, going, “Uh-huh.”

Reid asked, “Why do you pull at your scabs?”

Stan didn’t speak.

Reid realized. The boy was scared of everyone. He always did his best to please Clarice, who was not a very strong woman, despite her skills with her hands. It would make sense that as Stan was the only boy, she would repeatedly sexually abuse him when he got older in order to either make him feel worthless or to make him think he wasn’t masculine enough.

Reid tried to calm Stan, “What do you like doing, Stan?”

“I like watching movies,” he shrugged, “My favorite’s _Ghostbusters_. I got it for my ninth birthday.”

“That was your last birthday with your parents?” Reid slowly tried to get him to open up.

Stan nodded. “When Clarice took Brenda and Debora to work one time, Debora brought a video of the movie back with her. It’s in my bedroom at Clarice’s house.”

Reid knew he should ask. “Were you at your house when Clarice killed your parents?”

After a few moments Stan opened up.

“She made Mom kill Dad. I – I didn’t see her do that. She had tied me up and put me in the trunk. She brought me out when she drove into Mom’s garage.”

Stan stopped talking. Reid assured him, “Go on, Stan. You’re doing well.”

Stan curled and uncurled his fists several times as he related. When Stan had finished, Reid noticed that the boy had started to make eye contact. He was definitely opening up.

“How long ago was that, Stan?” Reid asked him.

“It was after Easter – the second Easter after I was taken.”

Reid asked him, careful not to make Stan clam up, “When did Kirk Lynwood get abducted?”, even though he knew the answer.

Stan answered instantly, desperate to get this out, “Nearly three months later.”

“And when did he die?” Although Reid was a hundred percent definite about exactly when.

“Four days ago.”

Reid didn’t want to consider Kirk suffering under Clarice’s hands for four and a half years, give or take a month, but the fact that Stan and the three girls had lived was the silver lining in this otherwise chilling case.

**8.40am**

Macie’s aunt had been contacted. She was going to come and get her niece once the girl had been checked over. It was the same with Stan’s grandparents. Brenda had an aunt and uncle in Canada, so they were coming down on the next flight.

Debora was leaning against a table, arms folded. As JJ, now fully awake, walked up to her, she asked if she knew what had happened to the other children.

Debora sighed. JJ persuaded her, “It’s okay, Debora. Whatever happened, you’re safe now.”

“Clarice –“ Debora swallowed, “Clarice made us take kids. Brenda and I were there when she took Stan. A-And that’s me on the security footage –“

“Debora,” JJ looked at her with wide, comforting eyes, “we can prove you were under duress.”

The young woman sighed and then faced JJ properly, still terrified. “Clarice – she burnt every body. She – the jewelry –“

“I know, I know,” JJ told her as she saw someone entering the room out of the corner of her eye.

Rufus Lynwood was now approaching the two of them, his heart clearly broken.

“You didn’t find Kirk,” he faced JJ, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

JJ nodded, sympathetically. Rufus gave out a howl and grasped his hair in his hands, trying to hold back choking sobs. To JJ’s surprise, Debora reached out a hand and started rubbing Rufus’ arm.

“Mr Lynwood?” she asked. He raised his head to look at her. “I was with Kirk. He was a great kid.”

“Did –“ Rufus paused, “Did he ever talk about my – my wife and I?”

Debora nodded. “It was all we could do to stay sane, Mr Lynwood.”

Then Rufus faced JJ. “Please,” he begged, “let me see their bodies. I – I need to see their bodies.”

Before JJ could answer, Debora did so for her. “They’re here.” She pointed at the evidence locker, whose door was now wide open. Even from over here, the three of them could see the jewelry and their boxes in evidence bags.

“That’s jewelry,” Rufus glanced back at Debora, “W-What do you mean, they’re jewelry?”

“I’m very sorry, Mr Lynwood,” JJ explained, knowing that this was one of the hardest parts of the job, “The kidnapper owned a – a crematorium. She turned ashes into jewelry –“

“My wife, my son,” Rufus hurriedly begged Debora, “Please say that they were dead.”

Debora took a step back. JJ’s heart sank.

“Please!”

When Debora didn’t answer, the whole room was then filled with the sound of Rufus howling.

Half an hour later, as the flyers were being taken down from the boards, Hotch looked out through the glass windows and saw Stan’s grandparents walking towards the boy. The teenage boy slowly made his way up to them before the three of them embraced.

Hotch wondered how it was possible to feel this satisfied, even after all that he knew about the case.

But he told himself that whenever someone came home, whenever a family received closer, there was always a happy ending.

In Guymon, Alex and Morgan watched as Brenda hugged Macie tightly. The sullen, older girl was saying goodbye to her, saying goodbye to Jessie, as they were being taken home.

As Macie’s aunt leaned down, Alex heard the woman ask, “Don’t you remember me, Macie? I’m Aunty Matilda.”

Macie paused, before she nodded. Brenda, still clutching Macie’s hand in both of hers, coaxed her. “Macie, you’re going home now.”

The younger girl looked back at Brenda, letting go of her hands. Then she spoke.

“Bye-bye Brenda.”

Macie took her aunt’s hand and the two of them walked away, out of the station.


End file.
